On Again, Off Again
by jennygrrl
Summary: How many times does it take to get it right? At least the memories never fade.


**Title:** On Again, Off Again

** Author:** Jen, check out my profile to find me in LJ

**P****airing/Characters:** Veronica/Logan

**Word Count:** 6715

**Rating:** NC-17

**Summary:** How many times does it take to get it right? At least the memories never fade.

**Spoilers:** Through S2 right on into college.

_**Feedback makes me smile.**_

He leaned back against the pool table, a cue in one hand, a plastic cup of beer in the other. The telltale signs of his frustration were in his hair; he'd run his hands through it probably a dozen or more times since they'd started playing. She hated to admit it – and she never would in a crowd – but he was pretty; a pretty little rich boy with an insurmountable chip sitting squarely on his shoulder. For her, the combination was almost lethal, and merged into an intense sensuality that held her fixated to the bar.

On again, off again. That was their thing. She surveyed him closely as he set the cup down on one of the triangles, slid his hand into his back pocket, and sized up the table. They were currently playing the "off again" slant. "You realize, if I sink the next three, you're out a hundred bucks," he sneered, not looking at her. She watched him pick up the blue cube at the end of the table and chalk the point of his cue.

"That's a big if, and by the looks of it, you're going to be the one coughing up the dough." She leaned back against the hard, polished wood, resting on her elbows. His jeans were so tight they looked like they'd been drawn on him, hugging his ass in a way that reminded her of too many nights gone by.

"I'm pretty sure I can afford it, Sugar. Don't think I haven't noticed you sticking your drinks on my tab all night." He bent fluidly at the waist, his torso balanced gracefully over the green felt. He retracted his hand from his back pocket and swept it down the length of the wooden stick. The man behind the bar, Max, met Logan's wink as he cleared away Veronica's empty glass, replacing it with another.

"Hey, you were the one that asked me out, pal. Besides, I live on a stipend. You live on an inheritance and a trust fund and," she paused for a second, tapping her finger against her chin. With a shift of her head, she continued, "oh yes, a large insurance settlement. Something tells me you can cover the tab for my drinks; especially when it's Perrier and soda."

By means of a smooth flick of his wrist he took his shot, the clash and collision of the billiard balls giving life to center of the bar. He looked up at her with a toothy smile, lifting his glass in an exaggerated "cheers" as his yellow fell into the pocket directly in front of them. "This from the girl who bet me a hundred bucks a game. You better be able to pay up, Mars." He turned slightly, shaking his ass, lining up the next shot. She seethed inwardly because he could so easily attract her eyes to whatever part of his body he desired, without her intention. Naturally, he looked back over his shoulder just in time to catch her spying his form. "Then again, there are other ways I can make you pay."

She huffed a small laugh at him, solidifying her spine against the unyielding mass behind her. "GHB? Again?" She paused, giving the words enough time to hit home, watching with muted satisfaction when he drew himself up rigidly. "'Cause we both know that's about the only way it's gonna happen."

"Oh, Veronica. Going straight for the jugular. You're just so fucking sexy when you go in for the kill." Vulgarly, he turned to her and adjusted himself, pursing his lips along with the gesture, allowing his pool stick to rest on the top of his tennis shoe.

She couldn't help but laugh. "Ahh, see? You gotta have two things to win, Logan. You gotta have brains and you've gotta have balls. And you've got too much of one and not enough of the other," she smirked, quoting _The Color of Money._ "Make your shot, tough guy."

Once more he turned to the table, sliding the pool cue through his lithe fingers, sinking two solids with ease. Swaying his hips as he slowly neared her, he rested his hands on the bar, one at the right, one at the left, murmuring next to her ear. "You know what they say, baby. It's in the way that you use it."

Veronica gulped a shallow awkward breath, she'd be damned if she'd give any evidence of the response he elicited. Turning her head a fraction of an inch, she fearlessly met his eyes. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to hustle me."

"Maybe I am," he admitted with a shrug. When he lifted his shoulders, his cologne filled the empty space between them, and she became painfully aware of how close he was. Too close. The air separating them was hot, the tension palpable, so she raised her hand to his chest in an attempt to augment the distance. Damn her misguided efforts. The second she touched him, she could feel his heat creep though her fingertips, his heart hammering in his chest beneath the tightly wound weave of the orange sweater. The shell necklace around his neck constricted when he swallowed, and she watched him closely, like she was hypnotized.

To any onlooker, they were suspended motionless, counting backwards from a hundred, caught in something resembling a stand-off. But to them, there was no time. Just the warmth between them, eyes emotionally holding each other's, both too willful to declare anything too significant.

"Hey, are you two playing pool or making out? If you don't want this table, there's other people who'd like to use it."

Logan turned around swiftly, and Veronica could breathe again. He stood in front of her, blocking her line of sight to the guy who'd effectually shattered their moment. It registered in the back of her mind that he was doing it again; sheltering her in the same way he had ever since that day at the Camelot. "We're still playing," he returned dryly, making his way back to the table, waving off his offending distraction. "Now shoo, college boy."

"What did you say?" The other guy, slightly shorter than Logan, with a crew-cut and navy shirt, squinted his eyes like he meant business.

"I said shoo. Scram. Vamoose. You know, be gone." Once more, in typical Logan fashion, he made a shooshing motion, smoothly sliding his stick across his body at full arm's length.

The kid shook his head, and turned just as Veronica finally got the whole picture. Four other guys stood, one by one, in a neat little line, looming at the ready. "You sure you want to start this, boy?" Crew-cut smirked, patting one of his friend's shoulders. "Maybe you should go back to your girl before you get hurt."

Veronica watched the expression in Logan's eyes. It was rare for her to see alarm there, and this was no exception; no fear, only a derisive rage waiting to spill over, geared up to take out anything and everything in its path. It was the part of him that frightened her most. She could see it, the way he calculated the destruction he could inflict before he ended up on the floor.

"Hey," she called to the five-man crew. "Don't mind my friend here. Too much booze and ego, never a healthy combination." She offered them a sweet smile, pushing herself off her bar stool. "Give us a few minutes, and the table's all yours."

She waited, mentally counting the seconds with a deeply held breath. The guys shared a look, the lead one nodding, as they pushed past the two of them and headed toward the bar for another round. Once they were safely past, she sighed and gave Logan a pointed glare. "What the fuck is wrong with you, exactly?"

"I don't know. You've been cataloguing the answer to that question for years now. Why don't you tell me?" There it was, suddenly, his untamed anger, aimed directly at her. She'd seen it before; when Logan wanted to do battle, he wanted no part of Veronica involved, and, if she did insinuate herself into the situation, it was always his wrath she faced. "Come on, Veronica, don't be shy," he motioned to her, calling her out. "We both know you've got a list a mile long. What's wrong with me?"

"That could take days, Logan," she deadpanned, "and it's still your turn. Let's finish this so I can get out of here."

"Nothing's keeping you here, Veronica," he sighed, looking at her as he stretched out over the table again, tapping the corner pocket to call his play. With precision, he landed the eight ball in the proper hole and threw his cue to the table, walking away without a backwards glance.

+

She found him, about forty-five minutes later, his arm around a brunette. She'd been distracted by a couple of guys she'd met at a campus mixer, the two of them surreptitiously stopping her from following after Logan. "Who's your friend?" she smirked, unfolding a crisp hundred dollar bill.

"Melissa?" he questioned, casting a glance to the girl at his side. She nodded, smiling up at him with big doe-eyes. "Melissa," he returned with conviction, reaching out to snag the money from Veronica's hand.

Logan's eyes were glazed, and she could tell by the empty shot glasses littered around him, he'd moved to the hard stuff. "Give me your keys," she demanded in his ear, leaning in to him. His hand wound up from the arm of his chair and snaked around her waist, pulling her closer. The scene could have easily embarrassed her, halfway straddling him, forcing Melissa to scoot back and out of the way so he could hear her over the loud music and deafening conversation, but this was one of those times where determination overruled sensibility.

"What?"

"Your keys, give 'em to me."

He chuckled at this, pushing back in the chair to precariously balance it and his weight on two wooden legs while he dug around in his pockets. He fished the keys out and held them in front of him, dangling them on one finger and palming them quickly as she attempted to snatch them. "Nuh uh. I'm fine, Veronica. Go home."

"Logan, you're not driving. You're drunk. Give me your keys, and I'll call you and ... what's her name," she waved a flippant hand toward the brunette, "a cab."

"Hey," the girl chimed, sounding like she had some reason to be offended.

"What's her name and I can get along just fine, Mom. But thanks. I appreciate the concern."

"Trust me, this isn't about you. I'm pretty sure you've already killed all the important brain cells. I'd just appreciate not having to have a guilty conscience for the rest of my life because I let you murder a family of four."

"Conscience," he snorted, his mouth spreading wide with a grin. "When did you get a conscience, Mars?"

"Don't be a dick, Echolls," she shook her head, stepping a few paces back from the scene he was about to create. "Just give me the damn keys."

"I said go home, Veronica," he murmured, dropping his lips to the side of the brunette's neck, steadily holding Veronica's gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he licked a long path from her shoulder to ear, whispering something into it that made her moan.

"He'll be right back, Tiffany," she stated flatly, grabbing his arm and hoisting him from the chair. The brunette protested, and so did Logan, yanking his arm from her grasp. "Do you really want to do this here?" She arched a brow, challenging him.

She watched as he considered every possible way he could answer. She could almost read every one of them as they scrolled across his face. "Come on." Once again she grabbed his arm, tugging him towards the back of the bar, into the small corridor hiding the bathrooms; it was nothing but a narrow hallway, but at least it provided a little privacy.

Once they were out of sight, he pinned her against the wall, his full weight resting forebodingly against hers, his hand wound up in her hair, his mouth angling down hard over hers. She kissed him back for all they were worth, then roughly shoved him off of her.

"Damn it, Logan!" She used the back of her hand to wipe his taste from her lips. "This is not going to happen!"

"Of course it's not," he whispered, eyes dark and glossy. He took a step into her personal space again, running the back of his hand over her cheek. "You just wanted your chance to play cock tease for the night, right? I'm sure Troy doesn't mind, Veronica, but I do."

"Just give me the keys, Logan, and I promise not to darken your doorstep until the next time you're lonely and demand my company." She couldn't help the over exaggerated eye roll, even though his hand had taken another course, tracing a tingling conduit down her neck. She tried desperately not to feel him.

"I said 'no'," he whispered, his eyes reflecting more emotion than he'd probably intended. "No means no, Veronica." His hand reached her clavicle, there was no more bare skin to trace, so he opted for creeping his fingers up underneath the hem of her shirt.

"Please," she gasped, realizing she was no longer asking him for the keys. She was blatantly asking for his touch.

"I better go," he murmured, sliding closer. "Katie's probably wondering where I got off to."

"Tricia," she replied, shutting her eyes to the warmth of his breath on her neck.

"Whatever," he returned absently, closing his hot, wet mouth over her pulse-point, playing his tongue against the vibration of her groan.

"Jesus, why don't you two get a room, already?"

Veronica slowly blinked, lifting her face to one of the guys from Crew-cut's crowd. She instantly felt Logan tense, his back still to Joe Jerkoff, and she placed a quieting palm on his shoulder.

"Good idea." She met Logan's eyes. He looked down at her with anything but affection; his eyes icy. He maintained a determined distance that seemed to get sharper every time they ended things.

"If we leave here together," he spoke softly against the hollow of her jaw, "you're not going to back out again, are you? 'Cause if you are, I'm going back to Michelle."

"That all depends," she whispered in a kiss against his ear, pressing herself up on her toes from underneath him. "Are you going to remember my name?"

He couldn't tell if she was indignant because he couldn't be bothered to remember the name of the girl she'd dragged him away from, or because he'd had the audacity to look in a direction that didn't include Veronica. Either way, he really didn't give a fuck. "Have I _ever_ forgotten your name?" He was serious, his eyes blazing sternly, like she'd accused him of something drastic. "How 'bout you? Whose name have you been saying when you go home and finger yourself at night? I'm sure it hasn't been mine."

At this she pushed back, blushing fiercely. Truth be told, the crudeness he employed when he was drunk and rubbed raw probably turned her on the most. It didn't help that he knew it. "Or has it been?" He continued with the same acuteness, crossing his arms as he studied her. "Were you planning on going home, stripping off all your clothes," biting down on his words, he intoned, "and fucking your fingers inside yourself like I used to?" It was at that moment she realized she'd stopped breathing. "Do you miss it as much as I do?" He'd framed himself around her as he spoke, licking his tongue along the bottom of his lip almost close enough for her to feel it, the glint in his eyes predatory.

She could hardly admit it, but she trembled everywhere when his lips brushed the words over her skin. It took everything she had not to whimper his name, not to confess she had missed his contact. Instead, she held out her hand. "The keys. I'll make sure we get home in one piece."

He opened his palm, revealing the indentation in his hand where they'd dug in when he clenched his fist. Slowly, he slid them from his hand into hers. His expression betrayed his silent acquiescence. That's the way it was between them. He would always be the first to cave. Veronica paused to let her guilt ride her. She knew it wasn't fair, but they'd been playing by the same rules for too long to stop now.

She'd let her culpability eat away at her long enough, and reached out to wrap her hand around his. He didn't look at her, but let her drag him across the bar. The brunette trotted up beside them, attempting to draw her arm around him. "Hey Logan, I thought we were going to my place?"

Veronica cut her off, standing in front of him. "Sorry, Suzie. He's got a very busy day tomorrow. Got to get him home before curfew." Her smile was false, her stance possessive, but Veronica really didn't give the girl time to respond before pulling them out the door and into the fresh night air.

She stuck his keys into the ignition, looking over at him in the passenger's side seat. His demeanor had changed from cold and challenging to quiet and somber. At least, when he was snarking at her, she knew what he was thinking.

Ten minutes through town traffic, he fiddled with the knobs on the radio, settling on a song she knew. She glanced at him, watching him stare out the window at the passing lights. A familiar refrain played, and she found herself singing along, "I hear the bells, they're like emeralds, and glints in the night. Commas and ampersands, your moony face, so inaccessible, your inner mind so inexpressible."

"I want to get out of here, Veronica."

It wasn't the first time he'd said it, so the admission didn't surprise her, but the pain creeping across her heart sort of did. No matter how many times they were off again, or he pulled some jackass stunt that scared the shit out of her, or fucked up and hurt her, she still wanted him close.

"I'm sick of all the miles," he continued, still staring out the window, skimming a single finger down the glass. She wound her hands a little tighter over the leather steering wheel, glancing in the rearview. "Sick of all the miles between us; all the distance spread out in every direction from everything we've been through," he paused, pulling his jacket tighter. Just when she thought she could settle into feeling nothing but acridity for him, he managed to pull her heart back from the ledge. "I miss her."

Veronica wasn't sure which _her_ he was referring to: Lilly, his mother, or Veronica, the way she had once been with him, it could have been any of those incarnations. Maybe all of them combined. She pulled the car into an empty space outside Altgeld Hall, a very old stone building, complete with a spire. When she cut the engine, he looked at her, finally. "Altgeld, huh?" For some reason he didn't seem surprised, and his petulance dissipated. "Let me guess. That assistantship they gave you garnered free access to the place after hours?"

She only smiled, pulling his keys from the ignition, slipping them into her jeans pocket. He opened his door and met her as she slid from the driver's seat. If the truth were to be told, this was the place she'd been spending most of her Loganless nights. She hadn't been dating anyone, but had thrown herself into her photography, working long hours in the lab. Once they crossed the threshold of her office, it became obvious. Her desk was covered in stacks of black and whites, hundreds of different shots of everything that was worth a damn in Veronica's world. Her father looked up at him from the corner of her desk, a stoic picture of Keith Mars, Private Investigator. Backup was in one too, curled up on the Mars' couch, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. And there, in the center, a dozen or so of him, partially clad, asleep in a bed he recognized.

There were times in his life when he wanted to take her into his arms, hold her close, rock her until either of them, or both, surrendered to whatever it was that drove them to love and hate each other. This was one of those times, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to move. He searched for some backhanded quip, but even the humor he faithfully relied on failed him. He was glued to the spot, devoid of any clever retort, admiring the beauty she seemed to capture whenever he wasn't looking.

Her hand found his again, and the steady rhythm of her pulse seemed to animate him. He swung her around until she was solidly in his arms, and he kissed her like there was no tomorrow. It ended raw, teeth and lips and spit, his hands clawing at the back of her head, trying to bring her closer; her nails raking across his jacket, then underneath, ripping his sweater up his torso so she could touch his skin.

He tasted like alcohol, his flavor, the one she'd grown so accustomed to while being with him, had become an instant turn-on. It wasn't just that, though; everything about him made her feel like she was home. The smell of him, the concrete line of his body, every expression that crossed his face; every part of him comforted her, when it wasn't tearing her apart inside or forcing her to run. Their dichotomy was too fucked up to contemplate, especially with her fingers climbing the thin pathway up his abdomen. Before she got too distracted by their dynamic, she tugged his sweater in both of her hands and winked, "Come on."

He followed her, out into the corridor, down a hall, then up the winding staircase to the forth floor; Miller Library, Hearst's markedly dated photojournalistic archive. She hadn't even pulled the key from the lock when he twirled her around and caught her mouth in another fiery kiss.

Her back rested firmly against one of the inset bookshelves, and honestly, she could have conjured up a dozen more comfortable places to start things, but when his tongue pushed past her lips, opened her up and flicked against hers, she stopped thinking entirely. Logan always kissed like it was an art form.

"Did you miss this?" he murmured over her closing mouth, not happy that he hadn't gotten his answer earlier. Miss it? She'd yearned for it like a junkie coming off a three day high.

"Maybe just a little," she returned breathlessly, licking her lips, her lids still closed. In the pitch black he couldn't see the rising color in her cheeks, or the weakness in her eyes, but he could feel her racing pulse, and the way her body coiled around him.

"Veronica," he sighed slowly, seductively dragging his fingertips up the inside of her clothed thigh. "I need you." He ground his hips against her, letting her feel the truth of it, his cock straining against the denim dividing them. He was always the one giving in and this was no exception. "Please…"

She dragged her hand lower, stroking spirals over the thin strip of hair disappearing invitingly beneath his waistband. She distinctly felt it when he took in a breath as she gradually thumbed his bellybutton, making slow work of bringing her hand over him. He shifted, dragging his moist lips over her collarbone, one sticky press, hesitantly, pulling away to repeat the entire process once more – wetter and hotter. He put more of himself into it, caressing both sides with his open mouth, no tongue, no contact other than the softest part of him. Veronica was spread out against the bookshelf, her hand pressed resolutely over his dick, the sensation shooting straight through him every time he pushed closer. She was whimpering, a very low keening in the back of her throat, followed by rapidly drawn breaths. He matched every sound, groaning when her fingernails scraped through his hair, trying to wind the shortness of it between her fingers.

"I need you," he whispered again, and it sliced through her. "I need you." She hadn't allowed herself any tears the last time they'd separated, mostly because she hadn't let herself believe it. This was the closest she'd actually come to feeling emotionally overwhelmed since their breakup. In the dark, suffocating on his cologne and his irresistible power over her, yielding to his demanding mouth, trembling with his words, she could feel herself melting away.

"Don't stop," she whispered back, squeezing her eyes shut tightly until the bright white spots chased the tears away. He didn't stop; he loved her with his mouth and hands, kissing her into oblivion, breaking down every barrier she had. She was still fully clothed, and he hadn't done anything but kiss her, but he wore her down with passion. His passion was her Achilles heel.

"You need fewer clothes," she murmured, trying to wriggle free from his insistent grasp. Her wish was very rarely his command, but he instantly peeled the sweater over his head, letting it fall wherever. They'd both had time to adjust to the street lamps that leaked faded light into the room from windows at the far end of the library. It gave just enough illumination to highlight the outlines of the room's furnishings, and for them to see the vague sketches of each other's hurried motions.

"We're probably the only people to see this room in years," he smirked, slipping his fingers to the snap on his low-hung jeans. Before he could undo it, she stepped back into him, twisting her finger into his belt-loop to pull him against her. His bare abdomen pressed against hers, skin on skin, and she mewled with the connection.

"Not true. I come up here all the time." And she really did. The room was musty from years of disuse, but that didn't stop it from attracting her. She'd sit in the world-weary leather-bound chairs, flipping through decades of smiling faces, trying to find the meaning in forgotten memories. For reasons she never let herself become too invested in, things like that reminded her of Lilly.

"You _come_ up here?" She could tell he was smirking with the implication. "I'd be willing to climb four flights of stairs every day just to see that."

"Stop talking, Logan," she grinned, lapping her tongue against his bottom lip. He swept his out to roll over hers, but before he closed his lips to kiss her, she gave him a rough shove backwards and climbed on top of him, straddling his lap on the leather sofa. He led with his hands, drawing them over each silky covered breast, palming them first, then stroking his fingers around the sensitive skin on the outside of each. "That's better."

Deftly he released the clasp in the front, slowly revealing her tender skin. Leaning forward, and pushing up from underneath just for the sheer ecstasy of the motion, he worked his tongue across one nipple, sucking it into his mouth. Veronica bent back, arching toward him, moaning her approval. At the same time, she rhythmically rocked her hips, providing the perfect pressure where their bodies met.

When he pulled his mouth away, he ran his lips between the valley of her breasts, kissing her heart with purpose. His fingers spanned her ribcage, gliding gently over her skin, making her shudder. For all intents, he was fairly sober, with only a slight buzz remaining. It was exactly the way he wanted it. He wanted to feel everything… all of her, every single place she brushed, licked, kissed.

Absorbed by her body, the sound of him moaning "Fuck," its resonance bouncing off the books and shelves, brought him out of his daze as her hand slipped past his open zipper. He altered his position, elevating his hips long enough to shove his jeans and boxers down his legs.

Veronica seemed to have her own agenda, licking a stripe across her open hand, wrapping it around his cock. She pumped him slowly, staring directly into his eyes, closing the distance to where he slumped back, open mouthed, breath coming heavily. She kissed at his lips, but when he tried to capture hers, she'd pull back, stroking him with the same tempo. She echoed the motion, shifting her fist over him, leaning in for the kiss, just barely tasting his breath with a flick of her tongue, then back again. It was driving him insane.

He became hard, like steel in her hand. She had direct knowledge of every state she could put him in, typically, he was always half-hard with her, but she loved that she could cause him to need, could compel his body to respond with desire. Playing her hand around him, she bent at the waist, sucking the head of his cock into her mouth. "Jesus," he panted, curling his hands into the leather cushions. She gave him one good lick from base to the tip and then rolled her tongue around him. "Veronica!" Suddenly, his voice was an octave higher. She craved his urgency.

She never stopped pumping. His hips ground up toward her while she sucked, coercing him to teeter on the edge. "Oh God," he choked out between clenched teeth. "Stop! Please!" She could honestly say she didn't want to. She could have kept him there forever, his mouth open and drawn, his eyes clenched tight, the muscles in his jaws and neck straining, the perfect picture of beauty. "Please," he cried again, and this time it sounded more like agony.

Releasing him, she took a deep breath, replenishing her lungs. She watched closely as he tried to regain control, dragging in small breaths through his nose, displacing the pleasure that threatened to overflow. She kissed him then, surprising him. He filled her mouth with a guttural groan that she hungrily swallowed. "Fuck me," she whispered as she released him.

With hurried fingers, both ripped her jeans and panties off and shoved his clothing completely to the floor. The couch didn't afford him the luxury of pushing her flat on her back, even if that was what he craved the most. Instead she climbed to her knees, resting herself against one of the arms, with him behind her, biting down on the curve of her shoulder. His fingers slipped into her easily, and he slowly circled her clit, caressing the column of her throat with his free hand. The tingling sensation building inside and around her made her weak, but she didn't start shaking until he pressed the tip of his cock against her opening, letting her rock back against him.

He drew in a quaking breath, but didn't object when she rocked her hips, careening against the two competing frictions - the head of his dick and his swirling fingers. Getting Veronica off was at the very top of his 'Best Things To Do **EVER** 'list! Tonight was no exception, save, if she didn't let him inside her soon, he was going to be in serious trouble.

Tenderly he skimmed his fingers down her throat and along the deep 'v' of her back. Her body shivered beneath his, and she gasped with desperation. Unbelievably he had the foresight to snatch a condom from his jeans, and he silently thanked God as he bit the corner of the foil package and ripped it open. He took himself in hand, prying a whine from her when he lost contact, and rolled the thin material down his shaft in one flat stroke.

"Is this what you want?" He bit at her neck, leveling himself against her back. With one rough upward thrust, he drove himself inside her, this time getting much more than a whine from her pouty lips.

"So... good," she panted, digging her fingernails into the leather. He pivoted his hips, pressing one hand firmly into the center of her back, coaxing himself deeper inside her and against the spot that made her shriek. The same motion made her eyes close tight, her breasts shaking with every strenuous breath, her brows drawn together as she focused solely on the intense pleasure he gave her, created only for her.

Logan rocked back and forth on his knees, looping one of his hands around her hips for leverage, while the other continued furiously, coaxing harsh and muffled sounds from her. Their muscles were burning from exertion, but that didn't stop her from aligning her long, lean body straight against his muscled physique. When she turned her head, he found her mouth, clasped a strong arm around her belly, and kissed her until she came. He released her as she climaxed, surrendering himself to the staggering tightness of his last thrusts. He was about to join her when, suddenly, she moved, angling to face him. "Veronica?" he panted a little frantically, but she silenced him, taking his cock into her palm.

"Let me see you, Logan. I want to see you." she whispered. Even after all this time, he could still see her purity and innocence shining vividly in her eyes.

He was almost there. She fisted him, quick and wild, the condom aiding every slick rise and fall, and he shuddered hard, sucking air into his lungs. His forehead rested slick on her shoulder, his hot, gravid breath on her neck. Slowly she changed positions, climbing up to seat herself on the padded arm, spreading her thighs wide in open invitation. Logan swallowed raggedly, choking on his desire. He crawled toward her, begging her with his eyes to finish him off. She dropped forward, hovering over him. Jerking her arm around his shoulder, she brutally propelled herself downward and enveloped him in her tight quim.

Logan whimpered, a helpless sound catching in his throat. His mouth opened as he bowed his head, watching her sheath him. His fingers clutched her upper arms, turning white as his thumbs stroked her urgently. "Please, Veronica," he pled, his staccatoed words vibrating in his chest. She thrust against him twice, shoving her tongue forcefully into his mouth. With a loud gasp, he filled the condom, heaving her name, trying to drag his lips across her bare skin. His attempted kisses were a disaster; all of his energy left with his orgasm and his muscles had grown weedy. They crumpled against each other, and reclined into the tempered sofa.

"Jesus," he breathed, resting his chin on top of her head when she laid it against his arm. There was a long silence between them, her hand skimming over his thigh, his tickling the fine hairs on her arm. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, "I don't want to do this anymore."

She flinched, twisting herself to face him. "I certainly hope you don't mean _this_,.. because _this_ was fucking amazing."

"Not this," he waved his hand in a distinctly Loganesque gesture. "I meant I don't want to keep losing you and getting you back, only to lose you all over again." He paused, reaching up to cup her cheek. "I don't want to be without you anymore, Veronica."

"Wallace says I'm unbearable without you," she joked, twisting her lips up. Surprise bloomed on his face, and the two of them laughed softly.

"That's funny. I thought that was pretty much his opinion of you when you were _with_ me."

"Apparently, I'm just impossible."

"Don't I know it," he smirked, running his hand through his hair.

"Hey!" She punched him square in the shoulder and watched him laugh, rubbing his hand over the spot, groaning little "ows" as he soothed it.

"So, is there a bathroom around here? I need to clean up."

"Yeah, just down that hallway," she rotated on the leather, stretching her arm in the general direction.

Veronica watched him stand, focusing on the small dips at each side of his hips, the jut of the muscles at his waist. Christ, he was pretty. With a small laugh, she inwardly rolled her eyes -- sometimes, she was such a girl.

Logan bent to retrieve his clothing, walked casually in the direction she'd indicated, and collided with the corner of a cleverly situated shelf. "Fuck!" He cried, jumping up and down.

Veronica's laughter echoed down the corridor. "Careful, Grace. I hear that whole walking thing is kind of tricky."

+

Twenty minutes later, he found her fully clothed, curled up on the couch, her legs nestled underneath her. Resting on her lap was a photo album, and she slowly flipped the page. Each worn side held photographs of faces probably sixty or seventy years old.

"What's this?" he asked lightly, sitting next to her.

"This," she emphasized, "is the reason I come up here."

"Mmm," he nodded, seizing half of the book, content when she relinquished her tight embrace and shared with him.

"Forgotten faces," she whispered, her words tinted with a hint of fear. Things had already started to fade for Veronica. Tragedies, they'd both witnessed too many, people who'd been torn away too early, for too many selfish and terrible reasons.

"Not forgotten," he corrected, flipping another page. "They're here for someone to remember. Even if one person cares, Veronica, it's something."

Tears slipped down her cheeks, but he'd anticipated them, and reached out to brush them away before they fell. Sometimes the things he said stopped her dead in her tracks, made her sway. This time, his revelation hit her so hard she was winded. No one else in her life made her feel so purely needed and so wholly needy. "I don't want to be without you either."

"Shh." With strong arms, he scooped her up and held her close. "Shh. I know," he sighed. If anyone knew her abject fear of losing someone, it was him. "You're not going to lose me, Veronica. Besides, you know I'm not the one who leaves."

"This was _so_ not the way I saw our evening going when I decided to go out with you tonight."

"No?" he questioned, sweeping her hair from her forehead. His lips feathered hot against it when he spoke. "I guess I'll have to be the one who holds out hope for both of us."

"You always are, Logan," she exhaled, appreciating the exactness of his statement.

"Come on," he urged with a buck of his hips. "Let's get out of here. This is nice and all, but I'd rather get you to my place, where I can make proper use of the bed."

Veronica tilted her head, smiling a little as she watched his mouth draw up in a gorgeous smirk. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her, and, just like that, they were back on again. Neither of them ever anticipated they'd be easy, and, unfortunately, never bet against them being so difficult. So when he placed his hand in hers, and they loped down the staircase in unison, she looked over to him and found a hope of her own; she hoped that whatever brought them together would keep them that way, at least for a while. It was the best she could do; there was no sense in pushing their luck.


End file.
